


Pinned

by killerweasel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerweasel/pseuds/killerweasel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's been in similar situations before, but never quite like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinned

**Author's Note:**

> Written before Series 2 aired.

Title: Pinned  
Fandom: _Sherlock_  
Characters: John Watson, Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes  
Word Count: 1,128  
Rating: PG-13  
A/N: AU after _The Great Game_ Warnings: character death

John slammed his fist against the wall of rubble in frustration. The action hurt more than he thought it would, so he didn’t try again. At least Sherlock was on the other side. He’d shoved the consulting detective out of the way when the large chunks of ceiling had tumbled down around their heads. Now he found himself trapped in a pocket, waiting for someone to set him free.

“Hello?”

John whirled around. He was certain he’d just heard Moriarty’s voice, but he couldn’t see the madman anywhere. “This is your fault, you son of a...” He trailed off as his eyes came to rest on the person responsible for the whole mess.

Moriarty hadn’t escaped. He was pinned to the floor by a very large chunk of concrete. John could only see his upper half; the rest was hidden by debris. He found himself moving in the man’s direction, taking careful steps in case this was some sort of trap.

“Why doesn’t this hurt, Johnny Boy?” Moriarty gently touched the concrete resting on his body. “Shouldn’t I be in agony or dead by now?”

“Don’t call me that,” John knelt down next to Moriarty to get a better look at the man. “My guess would be you’ve either crushed or severed your spine. That’s why it doesn’t hurt yet. You’re not feeling anything from here to your feet.”

Moriarty was quiet for a few minutes. “Tell me, Doctor Watson, how long do I have?”

John avoided the man’s face while he debated on lying. Then he sighed. His eyes met Moriarty’s. “I don’t know for sure. It could be hours. When you are freed, it’ll be over in a matter of seconds. Your body won’t be able to handle the sudden influx of pain and the severity of your injuries.”

“Oh.” What little color had been in Moriarty’s face was now gone. He looked young and vulnerable. “So what you’re saying is I’m already dead, but my body hasn’t quite figured that out yet?”

“Pretty much.” John sat down on the floor, keeping an arm’s length between the two of them. “Sherlock made it out. Someone will rescue us.”

“You mean they’ll rescue you, right? I can’t be saved,” Moriarty chuckled softly. “Not the first time I’ve been told that.”

John felt the tips of his ears grow red. “I...”

Moriarty waved a hand at him. “I have an idea. Since we’re trapped here for however long, why don’t we exchange stories? Doesn’t matter what the story is about or if it’s a lie, so long as it passes the time. Otherwise I’m going to go absolutely insane thinking about dying.”

John blinked. “Stories?” Moriarty nodded at him with a smile on his lips. “Like what?”

“Fine, I’ll go first.” Moriarty thought for a moment and then launched into a tale involving a cow being tied to the ceiling in his grandfather’s house. The whole thing had been done to irritate his grandfather, but it had been interrupted by his grandmother who had come home early from shopping. The cow had released a very large quantity of manure on his grandmother’s head.

By the time Moriarty had come to a stop, John was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. He almost wished he could have seen the look on Moriarty’s grandmother’s face when it happened. When John got himself back under control, he told the story of a very younger version of himself trying to catch a greased pig at a fair and somehow ending up riding it through the fairgrounds while screaming his head off.

They went back and forth for a while, each trying to top the other with whatever story they could think of. It should have been weird, enjoying himself with someone like Moriarty, but it wasn’t. And the madman was right; it certainly did take their minds off of rescue and death.

Rescue was getting closer. Somewhere between Moriarty’s story about a three legged dog and John’s tale of a duck with one leg, they’d heard people on the other side of the rubble. They’d both paused long enough to acknowledge the sound before continuing to talk.

When the rubble shifted slightly, Moriarty grabbed John’s hand hard enough he thought the man was going to break his fingers. John could have jerked out of the man’s grip, but didn’t. He could see the complete and utter terror on Moriarty’s face. The man thought he was going to die in the next few minutes. John leaned in closer, whispering the same nonsense he’d told dying soldiers to calm them down. Most of it was lies: that they would be fine, that it all was going to be okay, that they’d get through this and then see the people they cared about. It didn’t really matter that both people involved knew it was all lies. Lies could keep someone going a little longer until the end really did come.

John could feel Moriarty start to calm down again. Well, as calm as one could be in this situation. While he didn’t let go of John’s hand, he did loosen his grip on John’s fingers. Moriarty took a couple of slow breaths before glancing in John’s direction. “It’s starting to hurt now.”

He wasn’t sure how much longer it was going to be before their rescuers broke through. They would probably move even slower now that things were starting to shift out of fear of crushing those trapped inside. John sighed. “I can’t do anything for that.”

“I know,” Moriarty closed his eyes. “It’s your turn to tell something.”

John was about halfway through his story when he realized Moriarty had passed out. He gently shook the other man’s shoulder until Moriarty’s eyes popped open. There was a brief look of panic followed by relief. “Not quite yet, Doctor Watson?”

“Not yet.” John gave him a smile. “Shall I continue?” Moriarty nodded.

The next time he lost consciousness, John left him alone. The man was fading now. His body was starting to feel the strain it was under. John kept talking anyway, filling the silence with adventure and humor.

It wasn’t too much longer before rescue finally did come. Moriarty woke for one last time when they were ready to free him from the rubble. He motioned for John to come closer. John’s eyes widened as Moriarty’s whispers reached his ear. Then he grasped both of Moriarty’s hands with his own and they waited for the end.

“What did he say to you, John?” Sherlock knelt beside his flatmate.

John bit his lip before answering. “He told me I was one of the best men he’d ever met and that I was the only thing keeping you from turning into him.”


End file.
